Ken
by Airian Reesu
Summary: Contributions to the LJ community 30shards. Chosen "couple": Sesshoumaru and his swords.
1. Sh 1, Th 9: Until It Means Nothing

All the stories here are my contributions to the LJ community, 30shards. My chosen "couple" was Sesshoumaru + Swords (Tenseiga, Toukijin). All will be posted here in the order in which they appeared in the community.

**------------ **

**Title**: Until It Means Nothing  
**Rating:** G! There is nothing squicky, _or_ swear-y here…  
**Chosen "Couple":** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme**: #9 - Sunset  
**Words**: around 1,104  
**Summary:** There is much to think of on the ocean-side.

_-------------_

_The waves smashed against the corroded beach in brief brilliant flashes of silver, ebbing and flowing in its endless waves _

I don't really know what time means--I was not meant to know. I was created, and therefore I exist, and I truly do not know any more than that. Crafted with skilled hands, my being strengthened and stretched, tended alongside my brother. Then given this will, a sense of being and yet not. That is my starting point and that is all.

So when my Master's mind dwells upon this subject, this abstract notion of time, I cannot understand.

_The sun was setting; casting everything in its dying red rays, shadowing the deep secrets of the sea to once more lay in only dreams_.

I call him Master, although he is not. We coexist, tied to one another as this will of mine demands. And it is a will, for he is not always in the right and I must disobey. I have what I am meant to do and that is all.

Even if that means alienating him for a time.

He may feel thus, but nothing will come to pass. My will tells me so. We are tied together and this bond is inseparable.

I will be here.

_The air was cool, almost crisp, sprays of fine ocean mist dusting chiseled facades like tears that are said to not exist. _

I'd waited for him ever since my creation--that is what I was made to do. Once he was found, I was prepared. Prepared for the monumental task I had been charged with, prepared for the connection.

What I was not prepared for was the deep bonding. For my will is more than just a cause, it is infused with feeling as well. From where I know not. It is of no interest to me.

My Master was my world.

Even if he does not see it, it is true.

_Footsteps in the sodden sand, matting the earth with light steps that were swallowed by the tide, and yet the steps still carry on. _

I am the one always here. Time cannot contain my loyalty in its constricting cage. I do not have that fear.

That little retainer did. And more. A fear of being left alone, of failure. Of knowing that his chance had been for nothing and he'd die with a wasted life. Yet he continued to follow until he could not follow any more. Died with the quiet recognition and solemn respect he'd wanted forever.

And then Master kept walking.

That blade, tempered by the heat of fiery rage, the mighty beast of evil desires. It burnt out, its passion smoldering itself to ashes. It was left on the wayside.

Master forgot about it shortly after.

And that girl…that girl.

_A gull cried overhead, a last piercing shriek before all went dark and its day was over. _

I'd almost thought a portion of my work had been done when that girl came around. A bright ray of sunshine that even I could feel reflecting upon me.

Master was doused with it, basking in its glorious rays without even knowing.

Even my consistent prodding did not make him see. The girl kept giving and giving until her time was through. She faded away with a bittersweet smile of memories.

That did not mean he did not care for her. I know for certain that he did, or else I would have said nothing.

It is hard to teach a lesson when the pupil does not even make a minimal effort. Which he did, without realizing it.

One step at a time.

_Rocks jutted out of the sand, wounds in the even surface that had yet to be soothed by the eroding waves. _

Everything Master had come to know faded over time, turning into something new, something different. Always another step to take in whatever direction he chose.

And I will follow.

Not only do I still have a duty… I could not leave even if I did succeed. This is my place. Always here.

Death will not even tear me away. For, with me, Master cannot die. I will continue on existing in this duty, and he will continue to learn. That is how we work together.

-------------------

He stood on the edge of an ocean, feet bare within the frigid waves, and watched the day end. The wind whipped around him, cold and creeping as it fingered skin that had been immune to its touch for years.

The sun was setting yet again and he watched its dying fire on the sea. Smoldering and spreading, touching all before living again. Everything felt it, those dead, those newly living, and those eternal.

The bitter twang of salt was in the air, a constant companion with the sea. With the waves that erode it all away, even as the sun once again rose above its waters.

He'd taken to watching the sun set. He didn't know when, but _when_ never meant anything. At least not anymore.

He wondered, briefly, why it was always the sun's leave taking that drew him, not it's coming. But, like many things, that thought drifted off to become one more short-lived gull cry in the back of his consciousness. Forgetting was such a simple little thing.

He wanted to cross that ocean someday. He decided this on the impulse, taking firm steps into the driving waves as if he could leave now. Maybe board one of those foreign ships that touched upon the shores, perhaps just alight in the air and keep going until he hit land or died trying.

But, whatever he did, those sunsets would always be there. And that stopped him. Knee deep in the ocean, wet with foam, saturated with ambitions, he simply stopped and looked down, seeing the reflecting colors glittering.

So many colors. So many years.

He would go, yes. He would cross that sea one-day; stretch that expanse numerous times until it meant nothing.

But he wouldn't go yet. Because there was still something in these waves for him, here. Bittersweet, perhaps, but there. This was his homeland, after all. He probably had a few years left until it meant nothing.

He could wait. He had the time.

His hand found its familiar perch. He knew the texture of the leather to the smallest tear; the faint engravings upon the end pommel were engrained in his very fingertips.

He should have tossed it out to sea, then. Should have unburdened this life. He should have hated it.

But he did not.

This blade did not reflect the sunset. It never would.

Sesshoumaru sighed. "Tenseiga…"


	2. Sh 2, Th 26: Cargo Bay

This one is just crazy...don't mind me...(and please don't ask where this came from….)

**Title**: Cargo Bay  
**Rating**: PG-13 for language.  
**Genre:** Strange humor…  
**"Couple":** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga, Toukijin)  
**Theme:** # 26 - Travel  
**Word Count:** 849  
**Summary:** Toukijin hates traveling. Especially when it's with Tenseiga. It really sucks being a sentient, inanimate object.  
**Note:** This is…a very strange dialogue, mostly. Be forewarned. Takes place post series/future.

* * *

"I _hate_ traveling."

"Not this again…"

"Oh, shut up! I can bitch if I want to!"

"I don't see what you find so terrible in all this, Toukijin. Don't tell me you wanted to sit around on that rack all day?"

"Feh. The _least_ he could do was take us up front. I do _not_ appreciate being cargo!"

"It really isn't that terrible, Toukijin."

"Not bad? How the hell can it not be? It's fuckin' stuffy in this little crate. Not to mention being stuck with _you_ for who knows how long!"

"I vividly recall being in a situation very similar to yours, say…oh, five hundred years ago. Except we were hanging from a hip…"

"Is it _my_ fault you're useless?"

"Humph. I'll have you know that _you_ wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

"Oh, fuck you."

"No one ever seems to appreciate a voice of reason…"

"Remind me to knock you off the wall whenever we get there."

"How do you know the Master is putting us on a wall? Old weaponry isn't something usually displayed in a downtown apartment. At least that's what he told me."

"When, exactly, does he talk to you? I thought he hated you?"

"We've made amends. This helping to keep him alive thing sort of gave us a bridge for reconciliation."

"…I really hate you."

"You hate everyone. Remember?"

"Hn."

Pause.

"Are we there yet?"

"Toukijin…"

"No, seriously, are we there yet? I mean, I reeeeally want to kill someone right about now…"

"…You have got to be kidding me."

"No. I'm quite serious. A damn _cat _would do right about now… I wish I could file for sword abuse. He keeps underfeeding me…"

"Walking with a sword in public is a little strange nowadays. Not to mention _killing_ things with it is a big no-no…"

"Since when does _he_ want to blend in?"

"Where _have_ you been for the last hundred or so years? Really, it's only about you and lust, isn't it?"

"I'm gluttonous. So fuckin' bite me."

"No wonder he keeps you in those holy seals…"

"Yeah, about that. I'm thinking I might need a change…"

"You're leaking again, aren't you?"

"Well, what do you expect from a _powerful, mighty_ sword like This Toukijin?"

"Perhaps some intelligence? You just told _me_ what could help you attained that blood you wanted."

Pause. "…Oh, damn."

"Sometimes I wonder why he keeps you…"

"Hey! Why would he keep _you_? It ain't like you follow him around anymore. Little fuckin' puppy."

"I thought we went over this already…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, amends, blah blah, whatever. But…you can't tell me that it's not _your_ fault that Master "I'm-such-a-hot-god" is willing to live such a…human life."

"…'Hot god'?"

"…Shut up."

"You said it, not me…."

"_Shut up_! And answer the question!"

"…Don't tell me it's the hair, right?"

"…Fuck you."

"Ha! So it _is_ the hair! I'll have you know that that came from my tooth's lineage!"

"I asked you a question."

"Hmm? Oh, did you? I was a little too wrapped up in laughing at you to notice."

"…I sooo wish you could die."

"I don't think your dear crush would like that too much…"

"That's it! I've had it!"

"Umm…Toukijin? You really shouldn't do that…Toukijin!"

* * *

It was a nice enough airport, he supposed. Small and relatively easy to get in an out of. And he would have liked to do that after the long flight from Japan to the United States. 

But, Sesshoumaru found himself at customer service instead, staring down a pimply little weakling who looked ready to wet himself.

"Umm…yes. Well, sir, somehow…well…your…luggage got opened in the cargo bay…"

"Oh?"

"Umm…yeah… It didn't really _open_ so much as it…umm...crumbled." The last was spoken in a shocked whisper. "Nothing was left of the crate…but I think your luggage is okay!"

The youth stopped his stuttering long enough to give him a quizzical look. "Are you really supposed to, you know, have swords on a plane?"

Sesshoumaru sighed. Sword aggravation did not help jet lag. Not one bit. "They are artifacts."

The kid just blinked.

"Artifacts--historical pieces."

Blink.

"They were _cleared_. _All right?_"

"Oh! Okay." He waved back behind the counter. "We've got them right here. Putting them in a cardboard box'll work, right?"

Sesshoumaru only nodded, not really caring as he caught sight of the one airport employees that was unlucky enough to have picked up Toukijin.

Who knew humans could grin like that without splitting their faces?

Sighing as if the world hated him, Sesshoumaru put on his gloves--his protection from Toukijin's seals, and hopped the counter. He grabbed the sword out of the drooling, blathering man's hand and rolled his eyes as the two employees stared at him with identical expression of stupidity.

Picking up Tenseiga, he put them in the proffered box and walked away.

"Do you two have to do this every time we go somewhere?" he grumbled, tucking them under his arm. Receiving only guilty silence in return, he shook his head.

"You better learn to behave. Because," he added with a light smirk. "I happen to _like_ traveling."

Toukijin groaned.


	3. Sh 3, Th 7: A Quick Stroke, Only

**Title**: A Quick Stroke, Only  
**Rating:** PG for death  
**Genre**: Introspection/Angst  
** Couple**: Sess + Swords  
**Theme**: # 7 - Longing  
**Words**: 447  
**Squicks**: Character death…  
**Summary:**_'You know you want to," _the insidious voice hissed within his inner ear…

_------------_

_'You know you want to.'_

He stared out into the darkness, refusing to answer.

_'It will not take very long.' _The insidious voice hissed within his inner ear, twining so sweetly about his thoughts as if it owned them. As if it knew everything.

It did.

"This Sesshoumaru will not listen to this nonsense." He said it, but he didn't believe it. And it knew. But it also knew enough to let him sit, to wait patiently for his long-winded thought process. To wait through all the denial and empty promises to himself.

He tried to move on to others things, to leave this behind, but all thoughts spiraled back in to one single notion, one single soul. A being with breath heavy and strained, body aged yet small wrapped in layers of battered cloth, lay just beyond. Just on the edge of his senses and yet overbearing upon his mind.

_'I know what you want. I can give you what you're longing for.' _

It would be so very simple… so simple.

Drawing the blade from its resting-place, he brought it round front, gazed into the luminescent steel. It reflected everything. The shoddy hut walls. The eager faces waiting for the truth behind the fairytale. There, larger than the rest. That body. Decay and death, smiling upon him with unseeing eyes.

_'She understood you, didn't she? She cared for you. Years and years she followed, never complaining, never leaving. It was you who made her leave. It was you who made her become this.'_

He refused to listen. He would not be swayed. He would not be forced from his chosen path.

Except, he did not have one. He felt that dead stare and remained rooted, unmoving.

_'It's such a simple thing -- a quick stroke only-- and then you can be with her again.' _

Again that push, so serene and plausible. So compassionate…yet selfish.

"No."

_' No? But she is still so young! Her life was nothing in time; there is so much left to share…'_

"I said no." Rising up on creaking knees--he felt so old, staring down at her wizened face-- he passed the imploring façades, which desperately wanted the stories that their wife-mother-grandmother told them to be true. They wanted to believe in her benevolent master, the power of life.

They would never understand. No one would. No one but her.

One last look, a moment engrained forever, he left.

He would not be selfish. She never was.

The cold morning air wove itself about him, the eternal sky stretching blue. He breathed it in, closed his eyes. And thought of her.

_'You will regret this forever,' _Tenseiga whispered, mourning.

"I know."


	4. Sh 4, Th 1: Legend Says

The relationship was kind hard to find here for some, so let's see who gets it...

**Title:** Legend Says  
**Rating: **PG (or rather "K+"…--….)  
**Genre:** Umm…drama? Historical?  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords  
**Theme:** #1 - Legend  
**Words:** 367  
**Squicks:** Mention of religion (though the one in here has never really existed…) Servile worshipping? AU-ishness?  
**Summary:** But they believe him to be there. He is not.

**Note:** Like mentioned above, religion is kind of mentioned in here. And, although it's in Japan, it doesn't really "feel" Japanese. Sorry about that, but this is based loosely on an AU fiction I wanted to write once, so that might explain it. No strikes against religions intended…

* * *

It all began with a father passing down a heritage to a son. A gift unlike one ever given but thought to be nothing. Misadventures brought the child to be weaker, though he dare not admit it. To compensate he forged a sword. Now he could deal both death and life, one-handed. 

Rumors speak of a powerful youkai. Made of armor-flesh and bloody robes. Lingers on the edge of battle scenes. Dispassionate beast, it does nothing if unprovoked. Granted the powers of immortality and pain, it does nothing.

Tales tell of an immortal visage, glanced before life brought anew. Word spread, weaving out in fanciful webs of disillusion. Beautiful spirit, they cry. Benevolent soul to spare us our sorrow. Guardian, benefactor, Glorious One. One small story, and the son there once was has gone and died. Worshipped to private death.

History tells of a surge of demise, tearing the land to its core. Screaming to their benevolent one, wanting the life he bestows. What they believe to be lies tell the truth; webs burn to cinders. For what he does give, he takes in tenfold.

Legend speaks of a fearsome god. Granted the power to give life or take it away. Justice bestowed with the same hand, for it all ties in the same. Giving and taking, your fate on a whim. Bow before that presence unseen. A spirit of callous benediction; breathe in again and whisper the name. In moments of death, imagine him there. Watching, waiting. Glorious in mourning, brimful in pain. Cursed with this gift from a spiritual father, sent to destroy the mortal coil. Serve him well, revere the name, and grant yourself life eternal.

Legend says it is so. The people believe it true. Depictions drawn, falling flat. Dull expiring eyes stare, seeing naught. But they believe him to be there.

He is not.

Legends are brought low by time, whittled away. A cut-brief description on a worn textbook page. A simple amusement for daydreaming minds. Nothing further. Truths behind legends have rotted away. Blind to in the past, not thought of in the future.

No one believes in a legend now. But what does it matter anymore?

The legend is dead.


	5. Sh 5 Th5: To Live a Life of Failed Lives

This one was heavily influenced by my other story, The Most Powerful Sword. Which is very obvious once you read this...

**Title:** To Live a Life of Failed Lives  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** reflection/angst  
**Squicks: **Vague violent images. Overuse of the word "he".  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme: **# 5 - Memories  
**Word Count:** around 1,150, give or take a few edits.  
**Summary:** It wasn't one long life. It was hundreds of shorter ones chained together.  
**Notes:** Hints at InuPapa/SessMom and InuPapa/Izayoi

* * *

Tenseiga was made at the insistence of his wife. It was her idea that one could not create a sword of destruction without a sword of renewal. She understood the Ying Yang, the take and give, balance. She always was wiser than her years, a tremendous mind crushing a miniscule heart.

She was his opposite, _his_ balance. What was he to refuse her? She was the mother of his only son.

A son who walked the line between them both, teetering on tiny bare feet as he tried to make them both happy. A push one way and he would bend, but never fall off his neutral ground.

Then she died -- ironically before her sword's completion -- and the rope broke. The boy was forced into his lap and he never was a good parent.

It didn't help that the brat was so reckless. His mother had called him "inquisitive", but he could only label his son as a "pain in the ass". He'd dig a claw into anything, as long as it moved, and he always wanted to _know_. To understand. To _do_.

It was only after her death that the boy would _do_ things on his own. Still young, he'd thought he could do anything, _had_ to do everything, and it was all to be his own. Because that's what he thought his father wanted.

When that bear lopped off his head, the boy realized that he wasn't strong enough for everything.

But the father had learned something, staring down at his only son spilled across the ground. He'd learned that his wife had been right.

Tenseiga did have uses after all.

So the boy was alive again and now he stared at sunsets. Was if because he'd already faced the end that he'd calmed? Or was he just anxious to reach the sky now?

He never really understood his son. Now he knew him less. He missed the curiosity.

What he didn't miss was the death. Yet, when the boy was down again, left to bleed by a stronger foe, he'd felt the pang of recognition.

Why was he only noticed the boy he'd once knew when he was dead?

One swing and the boy was up again. And again he died. Then again. Each battle he grew fiercer, stronger, and so very determined that sometimes that had to be what killed him. His combatants were leagues above him but now he always dragged them with him, smeared and stinking as they waited to rot. He could stop failing now. He could die the battle hero.

Then he brought his son back again.

Now he looked into eyes so like his dead wife. But for his son it was not _one_ life to cloud his gaze; it was hundreds of shorter ones chained together.

And in each one he failed.

Sometimes he'd wonder, watching his son as he stared at the moon - he'd taken to doing that now after missing the sun - if the boy was even alive anymore. He was so still, so silent, and so very withdrawn that he was sure those devils had managed to steal something one of those times.

What they didn't take was his will. His strength. So, when he'd found his son standing over one of his father's enemies, bleeding only from besmeared claws, he'd felt elevated at his boy's triumph.

His son didn't seem to care. In fact, that was a common occurrence now, where death was concerned.

He saw those thoughtless eyes and shivered. For the first time in his long years, he was wary. Afraid.

His son barely spoke to him anymore. He was always _thinking_ about something. Contemplating. Maybe even wishing, but he would never know.

His son was his strongest ally now, impelled to action with the barest word and the work was always done impeccably. Then he'd return with nothing but bitter words --the only time he really spoke was to scorn. As if that his only amusement.

He was beginning to hate this; there was no warmth in his life now. His wife was dead and his son had died. Then died. Then died.

Then he met that girl. She was human, but oh so warm and fiery and everything his memories of his life were not. He didn't love her--he'd left that behind with his frozen family -- but that didn't mean she couldn't brighten his nights.

His son had only stared at him with those placid eyes.

It was only when his son called him a fool that he got angry. Not so much at the disrespect and insubordination, but at the tonelessness, the triviality of the words that were spoken only for the taste of bitterness.

His son was a flawed perfection that sneered at anything blemished. He spit out harsh criticism that really meant nothing except for recitations of his own learned lessons.

I've never made the mistake of a human, the boy had said with nothing on his tone. Only one small exclusion out of all I have done, he did not say. He wanted to see his father's failure, wanted to know there was someone worse than he was.

And this mistake couldn't be rectified with a simple sword.

He realized this, holding the squirming child in his arms as death breathed down his neck. That girl smiled at him and his heart thumped with just a little bit of life even as he knew he had to leave. But at least this moment would be able to overshadow all his cold memories--memories of a cherished face drowned in blood.

And he'd turned around and that blank face had stared at him and said nothing as he waited. His son - no longer a boy by any means- knew what was to happen.

And he didn't seem to care.

So he'd gazed at the face of his little hanyou child and wished for fatherly memories. Those babe-dark eyes were so promising, but he couldn't stay.

But maybe…

He gave his son that infamous sword. From me to you, he'd told him. A change of roles, he'd said. Then he left.

He was dead in less than a day. And dead was how he stayed. It was only fair. At least he wasn't going to live a life of failed lives. His son saw to that.

For one such as Sesshoumaru, to live as such was a fate more agonizing than any death.

He had never understood his father, either. Or he had forgotten; it was lost in his bitter death-twined memories.

* * *

I hope this makes some sort of sense…it seems like a bunch of ramblings to me.

Even _I_ find the sword relationship kind of vague here, so I'll explain: Tenseiga spoils the relationship between Sess and his father. Tenseiga is always what helps to make Sess so cold, since he has died so many times. Sess would rather be dead than live with the failures of his deaths. InuPapa doesn't see it that way at all.


	6. Sh 6 Th 29: The Night It Rained

**Title: **The Night It Rained  
**Rating: **PG  
**Genre: **drama/dry-morbid humor  
**Squicks:** Death. Abrupt change in mood.  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme:** #29 - Anniversary (yes, believe it or not. Although the title does blatantly point to another theme…)  
**Word Count:** 2070-ish  
**Summary:** So that sword _did_ have everything to do with Inu-Yasha after all. Figures.  
**Notes:** includes Mama/KagomePapa

* * *

It was their wedding anniversary. It should have been a night of cuddling and kisses, of lips and sex, but it wasn't. They ended up at Grandma's house with the kids. She would have thought it bizarre, if it hadn't been her idea. 

It was just that he worked so much and the kids were so young and sometimes she felt closer to them than him.

But she wouldn't tell him that.

He didn't really care too much, though. Apparently, as long as she didn't complain he didn't care what they did. He'd barely remembered the day, anyhow. And it had been a fun evening, even if the weather was terrible. Rain poured down in silken sheets, coating the windows in pale gray while every light was on within the house.

It was even worse when they all climbed into the car later on, rushing through the raindrops as Kagome waved and giggled to her grandmother. He climbed in the front seat as she struggled with the kids in the back, strapping her little girl and infant boy in their seats and closing the door. She was soaked through and he teased her before putting the car into gear.

There were on the road for less than fifteen minutes when it happened. It was a small mountain road, barely two lanes and lacking street lamps. He'd been laughing quietly at some offhand comment of hers, low and quiet so as to not wake the kids, when the car just…slipped.

The whole moment was slow, a frame-by-frame movie playback that was too horrifying to be film. Screeches and sharp gut wrenching turns before they were going down, down, down….

And then all she saw was black.

* * *

Sesshoumaru was accustomed to eccentricity by now. It was par for the course; he _was_ an eccentricity. Or at least that's what this time would call him.

But nothing was as strange as that damn sword.

"You do know," he remarked idly as he turned onto the small side road. (He _abhorred_ motorized vehicles -- they were so damn _loud_-- and the fact that it was raining didn't help his mood much.) "That if for some random reason I was pulled over, the fact that I have a sword in my front seat would be rather hard to explain."

Tenseiga made no verbal reply, naturally. Things made out of metal couldn't talk like living beings. At least it had been like that when the sword was created. Nowadays…well, that was something entirely different.

But that didn't mean Tenseiga couldn't _communicate_ with him. In fact, it had done so on many occasions (much to his chagrin). And those occasions often lead him to do something uncharacteristically mercifully (damn thing). Granted, many of these tasks had turned out to be rather profitable, but he'd never admit that out loud. Tenseiga was demanding enough as it was--he didn't need it to think he would be easy to win over.

"I really don't know why I listen to you anymore. Definitely since you haven't 'spoken' to me in what, one-hundred years now?"

But, to be honest, it was that fact alone that had him out in this terrible weather (he had long since learned that there were advantages to remaining warm and dry, thank you very much. No more foolish wanderings in the rain for him). Tenseiga usually had _some_ reason for this sort of nonsense. If he understood it or not didn't really matter to him anymore. He'd admit that he'd changed much over the years. If for the better, or for the worse, he could not say without some bias.

"I better not get muddy from all this," he warned the sword with a threatening glare, which of course it didn't react to. The fact that he was speaking out loud to an inanimate object was not lost on him. But when one lived for over five hundred years, one was entitled to a few odd quirks.

Sesshoumaru took the time to roll his window down just a crack (really, he couldn't stand being cooped up in this tiny space without some fresh air. Even if the wind noise was enough to drive him to distraction), and settled back for the ride. Apparently, if Tenseiga's not-so-subtle urging (called an abrupt daydream that made him drop his favorite coffee mug on his foot) was anything to go by, something was going to happen on this road. He didn't know what, since nothing that had really required his intervention had happened for a century or so. But, whatever it was, undoubted it had to do with "fate".

Sesshoumaru had never really liked fate much. It usually either bit him in the ass or bombarded him with stupid people. Either way, he was annoyed. He would have never believed in it, either, if it hadn't been for those said instances. For, certainly, such things would not happen on his own accord. So somewhere there was some idiot spinning a stupid wheel and laughing at him.

Well, they could laugh all they wanted. At least he'd _accomplished_ something (imagine that) in his lifetime, which is more than he could say for others of his (or half his) species.

A familiar scent cut off his disgruntled musings and Sesshoumaru slowed his car to a stop at the side of the road. He knew that smell -- in fact, he'd been covered with it himself many _many_ times in his life. It was death, strong enough to be sensed even under the pouring rain. Shutting off the engine, he grabbed Tenseiga off of the seat next to him and got out, not even bothering with the hood of the raincoat he wore, since it wouldn't be enough to hold all his hair in anyway.

Squinting through the rain, he saw the fallen guardrail, the puddle where tire skids would have been. He could even detect the scent of leaking gasoline and he swallowed the bad taste it left in his mouth. He hated oil products like that; he'd thought of them as toxic all throughout his life and it was hard to stop now.

Sesshoumaru gathered his youki around his feet, lifting himself a scant inch or so above the ground before walking over to the side of the road. Hovering over the muddy embankment, he peered down into the dark.

And sure enough, there was a car. The left side was smashed against a tree, the body collapsed in on itself like a weighted hammock.

Slicking back his already drenched black hair, Sesshoumaru sighed before descending. It wasn't everyday the sword called him out to see a car wreck. So, naturally, someone important had to be there. Someone he would have to save (just like always) and then they would all go on their merry little ways.

_Chichiue, I'm really beginning to think _you're_ the idiot at the wheel…_

Once he was down in the small ravine he was able to take a clearer stock of the situation. So...four people in the car: two adults and two children. Out of them all…all were dead except for one. The eldest woman --probably the mother-- was still alive, although unconscious.

Then there was the others. The man was sandwiched between the seat and the side of the car. His head was most likely caved in, although Sesshoumaru couldn't tell for sure. And he supposed it was the impact that had killed the little girl and infant boy.

Heaving another sigh, Sesshoumaru took Tenseiga's sheath in his left hand and drew the blade free with a smooth, graceful gesture that he recalled so fondly and yet never had the chance to perform any more. Spinning it in his right hand; he brought it around front and peered into the dark.

And there they were, always the same. Greedy little things, with those horrendously stooped backs. They never looked any older, but then again so didn't he.

Sesshoumaru was just about to swing when he noticed something. He couldn't see any of those creatures around the man. He even took a moment to study him intently, in case there was something he had overlooked, but still there was nothing.

"Hn," he grunted, drawing back his arm. A simple swing, then another, and there was life again. It was actually rather easy, considering.

And then, because he was mildly interested, Sesshoumaru moved around the car to where the man's body was. The amount of blood could only prove that he was in rather rough shape. And, unlike everyone else in the care, he was still dead.

"Seems you're not needed, hmm?" Sesshoumaru mused out loud, sheathing Tenseiga. "Well then, at least this won't be a complete miracle. With such a fall as this, _someone_ had to die."

Tenseiga showed its annoyance with a quick pulse at his side. Sesshoumaru scowled. "I'm not the one who forgot him, so don't go blaming this on _me_."

There a rustle in the car, followed by a cough. And then a scent came and hit him with enough force that he almost dropped his sword. The little girl was awake and…he knew that scent.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, held it in as he searched his memory. Everything was filed so very neatly there, especially were scents were concerned, but there was just so _many_…

The first thing that came to mind was Inu-Yasha (who he had not thought of in hundreds of years). And that's when he knew.

_So those stories were right, huh? That little human of yours _was_ a time-traveler. Oh, the irony…_

Bending down just slightly, he gazed through the broken window frame and, yes, that was she. That face could belong to no one else. Not even her incarnate.

"I'm surprised you were not reincarnated immediately, little miko," he wondered aloud, voice quiet in the rain.

Ah, so fate was laughing again. Or maybe it should be he who was laughing, since it appeared that he would be the master of fate now. At least for this little girl.

All this time, all this life, and now here he was, resurrecting Inu-Yasha's human girl. It seemed that the Tenseiga --like all of Chichiue's swords-- was made for Inu-Yasha, after all.

If Sesshoumaru had been young again, impetuous and arrogant again, he would have been angry. He would have cursed the world, his father, and most of all Inu-Yasha.

But now…

He sighed._ That just figures._

Straightening up once more, he shoved back the heavy load of his hair (white now because of the extended use of his youki). He went to leave, but noticed something.

Someone was staring at him.

* * *

Her eyelids felt like lead. Something large and heavy was pounding on her head. And yet she still managed to open her eyes. Everything was blurry at first, distorted, but it didn't take her long to realize that she was trapped inside the car and staring at her husband's bloody face.

She couldn't scream. All she could do was turn her head and try to cry. But her chest felt so tight and heavy and she had trouble breathing…

That's when she saw him. A white, ghostly specter hovering at the edge of her sight. Her mouth opened in a wordless plea for help that died in her lungs.

The vision --what else could it be?-- didn't notice her at first. His hair, long and white, was soaked through and she realized that ghosts couldn't get wet.

Her brain was swimming so much that it took her a while to form the thought she wanted to. _Is he here to help us?_

It was as if he heard her thought, because he turned then and pinned dark eyes on her. No…not dark, _gold_, and she thought immediately of the afterlife. She was dead then.

But why would that sort of creature carry a sword…?

A long moment of silence passed, stretched, between them. The longer she stared the more he began to come into focus, the more she felt things, and she was just on the edge to believing he was real when he spoke. His voice was so soft, almost transparent and trampled by the falling rain.

"Never stop believing in fairytales, Higurashi-san. It'll be the best for you all."

And then he was gone.

* * *

Almost ten years later, on the anniversary of the day it rained, Higurashi Kagome fell through the well. 

He knew this, because he watched.

* * *

A/N: 

Augh…another vague relationship…oh well. It's more of a friendship than anything else, between those two. A friendship that makes big things happen. Sess may seem strange, but he i is /i older.


	7. Sh 7 Th 19: What He Could Do

**Title:** What He Could Do  
**Rating:** G  
**Genre:** Introspection/angsty  
**Squicks:** none.  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme**: #19 - Jealousy  
**Word Count:** 232  
**Summary:** Oh, what he could do with a sword like that…

**Notes:** This could have gone to any character, I think, but I chose Miroku because I don't think I'd ever write about him for any other shard. And I wanted to….

* * *

He thought about it far too much. Ever since he'd heard of that blade's power, he _had_ to think about it. He was a mortal being to the strongest degree, an earth-bound creature with just the tips of his toes skimming the living world.

Death reached for him everyday, a permanent reminder torn into his skin. And then there was Sesshoumaru. He summoned death at his own command. And then he could kill it. All on his own whim.

Miroku couldn't help but be jealous.

Sometimes he'd sit and wonder of what he'd do with such a sword as Tenseiga and there was _just so much. _ He would make Sango whole again, he would give Shippou his family again, he would save all those innocent souls they came across on their bloody path.

Miroku would have done all that and more. Sesshoumaru was doing nothing. Miroku would have had a chance to leave his mark on the world he was bound to leave. Now the Tenseiga only sat dormant under an unfeeling heart.

And maybe…just maybe, he could live.

Miroku glanced at his covered hand and chuckled dryly. He was being an idiot. A sword of life could not help one such as he.

He was such a fool.

Perhaps it was better that someone like Sesshoumaru held that sword. At least the demon couldn't abuse its power.

Because he couldn't _dream_.

* * *

------ 

Another vague relationship…Those seem to be the easiest to do for this "pairing".

I'm kinda "eh..." on this one…


	8. Sh 8 Th 16: The True Orchestration of E...

**Title:** The True Orchestration of Events  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** General/Humor/Satire  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme:** #16 - Friendship  
**Words:** around 720  
**Summary**: Sometimes the waiting is the hardest part…

**Notes:** I'm working off a scene from the third movie, where Sesshoumaru gets Tenseiga with the note. I've sure you've all seen the picture all ready, but if you haven't you can see it here: http/ img.photobucket. com/ albums/ v336/ airianreesu/ BokuTen.jpg (minus spaces).

And I just kinda made up the title before I wrote the whole piece, so I don't know how well it fits…

* * *

'Are you certain that this is…the best mode of presentation?'

Bokusen'ou rustled his leaves in what could be taken for annoyance. Or perhaps humor. It was hard to tell with a tree. "I see nothing wrong with it."

Tenseiga hung in deep lamentation. 'I do not know why Master thought this was wise…'

"Your Master always was a strange one," the old tree mused in a booming mumble. "He always did have a very odd sense of humor…"

_Like you_, the sword thought wearily. The leather above creaked once with the shifting wind.

The two supernatural entities waited. And then waited some more. Then some more…

A nearby bush rustled suddenly and Tenseiga felt a wave of hope…that crashed on sharp imaginary rocks as a small bunny came hopping out of the brush. Mustering a purely internal sigh, the sword tried to gain Bokusen'ou's attention.

'Are you _sure_ he's coming?'

"Yes, I'm sure." Leaves rattled again. "He'll show up."

'Well, if you're _positive_…'

So they waited so more. A few more rabbits hopped in the clearing. Tenseiga watched them go with a morbid fascination.

I wonder how many little goblins come to take a bunny's soul…

Day fell to night then to day. Then it repeated.

'Are you SURE he's coming?'

"He's _coming_." Bokusen'ou sounded rather nettled in Tenseiga's opinion. "His father died three nights ago. You'd think he'd have gotten the message by now."

'Well, Toutousai never was know for his dependability in such matters…'

Tenseiga swayed in a sudden wind. Who knew trees could sigh?

Creak. Creak. Creak.

'Why do I have to hang here, anyway?'

Bokusen'ou huffed. Which was rather strange for a tree (but then again, Tenseiga was a talking sword, so…). "It's for the _effect_."

'All right, then…'

Tenseiga was beginning to wonder how many damn bunnies could be in one forest. Apparently there were a lot.

'Where in all the living realm _is_ he?'

"I don't know. He's a dog. _Anything_ that smells can attract their attention. The worst smelling, the better. I remember the time when his father--"

Tenseiga swayed. Tenseiga thought of hell and how it wanted to be there. At least in hell it could cut things. And no one was late in hell. At least Tenseiga didn't think so.

So the tree made a windy speech and Tenseiga thought. He was getting rather good at ignoring the other voice.

'What if he doesn't like me?'

Bokusen'ou stopped talking and Tenseiga wanted to poke him. How come when the sword wanted a decent conversation the tree shut up?

"Why wouldn't he like you? You're very powerful."

'Well, I'm not very conventional…'

"You're worrying too much." There was just something in his voice…

'Do you think I could be his friend.'

Did the tree just snort? Tenseiga wasn't sure… "Good luck with that. That boy's a little brat. Barely taller than a sapling and what does he do? Climb up into my branches without permission! And then he complained about a sliver! Serves him right!"

Tenseiga sincerely hoped that wasn't meant as reassurance.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

'Why is this sign here?'

"Effect."

'Oh.'

Creak. Creak. Creak.

'Ra ra raaa…Ra ra raaaa…Raaaaaaaaa… '

Tenseiga gave up on that pursuit shortly after. It seemed that swords couldn't sing. (Bokusen'ou made that _very_ clear.)

Creak. Creak.

'One, two, three, four…'

Creak. Creeeeak.

'…five thousand, five thousand and oooone…Oh!'

The bushes rustled again, and for once a bunny didn't come out. (If it saw one more rabbit, Tenseiga didn't know what it would do…)

But, whatever it was, it was big. And white. And _fluffy_.

'No, not a _giant_ bunny…wait…what…_oh_…'

Tenseiga finally saw his new master. He didn't look very young…at least compared to Bokusen'ou's description. In fact he looked…well, teenaged. Or whatever… Tenseiga wasn't very good with ages. All he knew was that his master wasn't short.

'Well, seems the pup grew…' Bokusen'ou remarked, surprised.

Lucky for him he didn't say it out loud. That look his new master was giving them wasn't very promising. In fact, it was downright terrifying.

'Should he be…glaring like that?'

'No…I don't believe so.'

They both sweatdropped.

'And to think, all I wanted to be was his friend! After we've worked on time management, that is…'

Sesshoumaru continued to glare.

Tenseiga saw a very long wait ahead.

* * *

Sorry for that, but they really _do_ sweatdrop in the scene…

Yes, Tenseiga was trying to sing "La la laaaa…." Don't ask me why….

And please don't ask about the bunnies...


	9. Sh 9 Th 13: Submerged

**Title:** Submerged  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Angsty….  
**Squicks:** OOCness, run-on sentences galore, and overused symbolism  
**Couple:** Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme:** #13 - rain  
**Words:** 800 ish  
**Summary:** He hated the damn sword.

**Original Notes:** Uh…this came out nothing like the original idea... Okay, so the first half of it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there… Based on someone's idea of Tenseiga less Sess compassion. I think the story was Duplicity or something to that effect… (damn memory…) Anyway… Sess is so OOC here. In fact, I can't believe I'm posting it here… I may redo it, but want others' opinions first... Critique me, please.

_**New Notes: **_--ahem-- Yes, those were my original whinings at 30shards, I'm ashamed to say... I'm such a baby sometimes... It's just that I didn't know how people would react to this, so I put a huge disclaimer on it...So ignore me and come to your own decision.

Well...let's see how it goes...

* * *

It rained the night his father died. It was a smothering oppressive rain, soaking him through to the very core. It was a cold rain, a scorching rain. It was a driving rain that scratched his skin, ripped his face. It was a rain of agonizing slowness, of crawling fingers that knew every crevice in his time-toughened skin. It was everything at once and he hated it. 

The mud -- that overwhelming filth-- sucked him in, locked him there, and he was forced to suffer. And it kept coming down. Rain. Rain. _Rain_. He couldn't see. Everything was a haze of color --anything was nothing now to his eyes -- and he hated it.

He hated many things.

First of which was _him_.

The ground gave way beneath his hands, pushed as it was by seeking claws, torn and trashed in a search for a solid hold. He was sliding away, he knew it and fought it, but it was still raining.

Raining enough to drown. Almost.

A flicker of thought and he saw himself filling with it, aching hollowness brimming with anything at all, but that was nonsense and he knew better.

Living beings were not hollow--only dead ones were. Living being could not hold water…

But why did he feel that way?

It rained. How he wished to wring out some of the water now… It was heavy and he was sinking and he did not like this at all…

He tried to sit still, wait it out, but he was restless and the rain was stifling and he was so damn cold and _why was he dead_?

_He_ wasn't supposed to be dead he wasn't supposed to be gone he wasn't supposed to be the sacrifice he wasn't supposed to…

_He_ wasn't supposed to leave him with _this_.

He hated this. He hated the slick metal, he hated the tanned leather, he hated the non-existing wounds it left.

He hated this damn sword.

The rain fell harder, pounded him down and he tried to see the blade tried to ignore it tried to escape it tried to grip it in useless hands but there was nothing.

That's just what it had done. Nothing.

It was so powerful so lovely so much the favored of them all. But now it was useless it was so far away it was too close it was a blur in the rain. It was nothing it was metal it was making him drown. Engulfed in rain.

It was set in the muck -- he knew he'd put it there-- and it mocked him --he knew it because he _knew _-- and he hated it.

Why hadn't it saved him?

Why did it leave him dead?

It was worthless worthless worthless worthless…

Just like he was, himself.

The urge to scream was a tidal wave against his lips, up his throat. He swallowed the salt. But that did nothing but conduct the rage downward and out until it erupted from him in a ferocious storm, fingers tearing at the immobile leather as if that would make it _die_, as if his claws screeching against the unblemished steel could actually make something _happen_.

Yet, no matter how much he abused that blade, there was nothing. He didn't even _bleed_. And that made he so angry that he was so close to drowning that the rain didn't matter anymore because if he drowned then it wouldn't tear him apart anymore and if he ruined that _damn sword_ he might be able to do something but that something wouldn't make a difference because he was worthless and--

_'Calm down.' _

Slick with mud, slick with rain, he could do nothing but slide into silence. Screaming -- _screaming_-- that this was insanity he was tasting on his drenched lips he did nothing but stare and know it was over. What _it_ was he did not know but it was over.

_'You need to get yourself together, boy. This sniveling is getting us nowhere.'_

Us.

_'So get up, shut up, and do as I tell you and everything will work well.'_

But.

_'He's dead, you're here, and I have to work with what I get. So get up.'_

I.

_'Do as I say and I'll take it away. I promise.'_

He felt it. The rain was freezing, crystallizing through his body as he tried to lurch away. But it swamped him, pulled him under, and it was too hard to drown in.

He just felt numb.

But somewhere, some small molten center of his frozen heart, he knew one truth that nothing could diminish and he basked in its boiling water because that's all he could do.

**I hate you. **

He hated him. He hated himself.

He hated that sword most of all.


	10. Sh 10 Th 23: Strain

**Title: **Strain  
**Rating: **PG  
**Genre**: General  
**Squicks:** None except this being the thoughts of an inanimate object…  
**Couple: **Sess + Swords (Tenseiga and Toukijin)  
**Theme:** #23 - karma  
**Words:** 166  
**Summary:** A sword's karma, all determined through service to the master.

**Notes:** I can't believe I gave a samurai-like compulsion to a sword….

* * *

It should have seen it coming. Something that lived in rage could only go out in rage. That was how existences worked.

But it seemed that Toukijin's karma was straining upwards. It at least got to perish in the service of its master, despite the circumstances.

Tenseiga could only wish for such a chance. Yet, as it struggled against that sheer _force_ that engulfed his master, as it thrust out and hoped it was enough, it realized that perhaps it would never get the chance.

Perhaps its karma was to forever remain unrecognized. To forever be the shadowed lackey that followed in silence.

It realized this but --as its master's strained breath resonated through the dark, as his pain cried out to its inner core and Tenseiga _pushed_ harder-- it could feel no regret.

It may be unacknowledged, it may be scorned, it maybe even be thought useless. But it was still going to save its master's life.

And perhaps that was all it needed.


	11. Sh 11 Th 25: Nothing

**Title: **Nothing  
**Rating: **PG  
**Genre:** Angst/Deathfic  
**Squicks:** Blood, odd theories, character deaths, hanging endings  
**Couple: **Sess + Swords (Tenseiga)  
**Theme:** #25 - Lies  
**Words:** 1,937  
**Summary:** Just because something is new does not make it improved.

**Notes:** New canon (as in, the newest stuff with Tenseiga, so spoilers)

* * *

+ 

Toutousai didn't like surprise visitors. Especially when that visitor was Sesshoumaru.

The expression on the inuyoukai's face didn't make this meeting any better. In fact, it made it downright terrifying. Because that wasn't Sesshoumaru he was facing. It was an enraged animal in a human skin.

"You _lied_."

Toutousai took an involuntary step back, hammer raised in some pittance of self-defense as he stared at the sudden whirlwind of anger who had disturbed the relative peace of his forge. Positioned at the mouth of the dark cave, back to the cloudy night, Sesshoumaru was almost unrecognizable. Eyes hard as flint and just as cold bore down at him, peering out from a visage washed with blood. His immaculate garments were rags now, blood-splattered and torn like the clothes of a dead man. Lacking his signature armor he finally looked his proper age, so small and disillusioned and shockingly young.

And thrust before him, clutched in firm, steady fingers, was Tenseiga. Its blade was red turning brown and Toutousai didn't like the sight.

"What did you do to Tenseiga!" the smith shrieked, rushing forward despite his coward instincts to try to wrench it away from the inuyoukai.

He was shocked into stillness when Sesshoumaru struck him with it. Sharp steel ran along the weathered skin of his palm and Toutousai almost didn't feel the pain of the cut through his wild thoughts. Tenseiga wasn't supposed to cut! What---?

"You lied!" Sesshoumaru hissed again, his mask-like face carved with a madman's knife. Toutousai had never seen him so irate. The surge of youki around them was thick and stifling and the old smith barely felt his lungs moving under the strain of it all.

"I did no such thing!" Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Toutousai took a hesitant step back. One quick move and he feared to set the other youkai off. His expression may be stiff and schooled even in anger, but the emotions behind that face were nowhere near as ordered.

It was such a silent, deadly strength. All the more so because it was rarely tapped into.

There was a clatter against the stone and it took Toutousai a moment to realize that Sesshoumaru had dropped the bloody sword. His hand still remained out, opened over the hilt almost as if he expected it to come back on its own. It was then that Toutousai saw the broken claws and the gashes along the smooth skin of his arm.

When Sesshoumaru next spoke it was in a quiet, measured tone that belied his anger. And that scared Toutousai even more. "That is not Tenseiga."

Toutousai opened his mouth. He wanted to say, _Of course it is!_ He wanted to protest that _You have no right to call me a liar. _ He wanted to tell him that _That is Tenseiga. And it shouldn't be cutting_.

_What did YOU do? _

But all he did was open his mouth and then think about what was wrong. Then he shut it again.

"What did you do to my sword." Sesshoumaru's eyes were locked on him and Toutousai did not appreciate feeling like prey. But that was what he was, and it took a great deal of will power that he didn't know he possessed to remain still.

"You mastered it, didn't you?" he began slowly, piecing his words together in the same manner that one would normally slink away from a predator-- slowly and quietly. "The Meidou Zangetsuha, I mean."

Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed fractionally. His sole hand dropped back to his side, hanging limply as trails of blood encircled his wrist. "What of it?" His voice was stiff and rough, like he was sliding it out between two unyielding stones. Which he most likely was, in a sense.

Toutousai sighed, feeling his old shoulders slump. "I feared that would be so."

"Feared _what_, old man?"

Sighing, Toutousai bent with excruciating slowness, his hand stretching for the blade on the ground. He felt Sesshoumaru's eyes on his back but he couldn't just leave Tenseiga to lay there. Sesshoumaru made no movement whatsoever to stop him and Toutousai thought that he might get out of this situation in somewhat good condition. At least that was until his fingers touched Tenseiga's hilt.

A heavy, booted foot slammed down on his wrist, crushing the fine bones and grinding them painfully against the sword pommel. "What. Did. You. Do." Sesshoumaru practically hissed, punctuating each word with deadly intent.

Toutousai's first instinct was the burn that offending foot off his arm, but then Tenseiga would melt and that just would not do. Because, although it was changed now there was no possible way he could create such a sword again. The best thing he could do was explain quickly and get this literal time bomb out of his forge.

"Tenseiga was created as a healing sword and yet, as you know, it called out to me not too long ago to be reforged." Toutousai risked a glance up at the youkai, who watch him with a blank expression. The smith struggled to keep his voice even. "It answered _your_ desires, Sesshoumaru. Tenseiga thought that you had learned and thus would use its gift wisely. How wrong it was."

Bones snapped again under the inuyoukai's boot and yet Toutousai grit his teeth more in anger than pain or fear. "Tenseiga thought so highly of you, boy, more so than anyone else. It believed that you were on the right path and this is how you betray its good faith--by destroying its very essence. No longer is it a sword of life but one of death. All because you were greedy. Did you not realize that two such powers must exist in balance in order for both to work? By mastering the Meidou Zangetsuha you smothered the blade's ability to heal.

"I should have denied Tenseiga's request," he finished with an angered mumble. "It placed far too much faith in you and your heart. Hoping that you would continue to heal--pah!"

Silence fell with those last words, one that the old smith did not like. He did his best to try to cower away, fearing the worst…

It took Toutousai a moment to realize that there was no longer any pressure on his wrist. Raising the now useless appendage off the blade's hilt, he risked a glance up to Sesshoumaru. He had not expected this show of mercy. In fact, he thought he would be dead.

The other youkai was gazing down at him with a closed, almost empty expression that looked ghastly on his bloody face. In fact, he looked closer to death than Toutousai felt. His eyes were so pale, almost glazed over and the smith felt a chill run through him. Getting to his feet unsteadily, Toutousai inched away.

Sesshoumaru's eyes didn't follow his movements. His interest appeared to be in the sword and the sword alone. Taking a small step forward he made a movement to bend down to retrieve the blade, but he halted soon after, hand raised but not outstretched. He hovered there like that for an undeterminable amount of time before doing something Toutousai never thought he'd see.

Sesshoumaru fell to his knees. Bending slowly and stiffly at his bloodstained knees he hit the ground right by the tarnished blade. His entire faced seemed brittle in the faint light of the forge, something so tightly contained that the seams were beginning to crack.

His hand went out once more, as if to touch the sword, but he drew back. "So soon," he mumbled in a voice that was more a growl than true words. "Was this what you were trying to tell me, Tenseiga?"

Toutousai watched this scene with a pounding heart. So Tenseiga had tried to warn him? To no avail, it seemed.

"You allow yourself to be mastered when most needed…and yet you betray me just as quickly…" Sesshoumaru seemed to forget Toutousai's presence; he spoke to the sword in such a raw voice that Toutousai had to look away.

Hearing those words, however, made Toutousai wish to know what he happened more than ever before. "Who died…?" He poised the question to the inuyoukai as delicately as he could manage. It still came out rough and even a bit irritated, but Sesshoumaru didn't appear to notice.

Sesshoumaru did not reply for some time. Toutousai was even beginning to believe that he had not heard him speak, but a quick movement of the other youkai's hand proved that he had. Before Toutousai could react, Sesshoumaru reach for the sheath at his side.

Toutousai hadn't seen the sword there earlier, but when the youkai grasped a very familiar hilt it was all the old smith could do to keep calm.

Light from the sword's imbedded barrier flashed along the walls of the cave as Sesshoumaru drew Tessaiga. The blade was thin and dull once more and stained in dark, almost black blood. He held the sword out in front of him even as the spell burned away at the skin on his hand. Toutousai almost forgot to breathe, seeing that weapon in the other youkai's hand…

It was only then that Sesshoumaru spoke. When he did, however, it was in echoes, cold and empty despite the dark depths behind his words. "Him, among many others." He did not look at Toutousai or Tessaiga as he continued. Tenseiga still held his complete attention. "It was only then that Naraku was defeated. Sent to hell because of Tenseiga. And now, nothing."

Time crawled up Toutousai's spine, trapping him in this everlasting moment as he stared at the young youkai before him…this youkai who now held the power he had wanted for so very long…and there was no one to stop him from taking it…

The sharp clatter of metal against stone snapped the old smith out of his daze. Tessaiga now rested on the dirty floor beside its brother. Sesshoumaru was on his feet shortly after. Toutousai stared at where he had once knelt, watching the dim light reflect in the sizeable pool of blood.

Yet when he raised his head, Sesshoumaru stood just as tall and proud as always. He sent the smith one last, unreadable look before turning swiftly towards the exit. He swayed just slightly, enough the Toutousai caught it, but the old smith said nothing.

He really couldn't find any words now, even if the fate of the world depended on it.

It was only when Sesshoumaru was steps from the mouth of the cave, his bloody form almost disappearing in the inky darkness, that Toutousai's voice worked. He sought for anything to say in the face of such suffering. "You will return to that old toad and girl now?"

Sesshoumaru stopped then, his feet scuffling against the stone. He stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed, slowly and calmly. It was a long time before he answered.

"I told you--now there is nothing."

And then he was gone, morphing into the shadows like a ghost.

Toutousai stared at the place the other youkai had once stood, before reaching out tentative fingers to brush against the two blood-covered hilts before him. Neither reacted to his touch, just as he had thought.

Drawing in a stilted breath through his old teeth, Toutousai rose to his feet and returned to work. There was nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

Behind him, in a puddle of once shared blood, lay two broken brothers that nothing -- not even time or magic or pure stubbornness-- would ever be able to mend again.


End file.
